Promise Me This (4 page)

I sat there grinning at my screen, forgetting that I needed to get my butt moving.

“So, what’d he say?” Emmy asked, coming around the counter and startling me from my thoughts.

“He’ll do it,” I said, almost reluctantly, wondering what in the hell I was getting myself into.

Nate

I pushed the button on my expensive coffee machine. If Jessie could see me now, she’d definitely think that I was living up to my nickname.

I put her no-frills straight medium roast arabica coffee in a sleek to-go tumbler and then made my cappuccino drink. She’d probably rag on me for that one, too.

Rinsing out a couple of cups in the sink, I made a mental note to clean the apartment later. Housing was tight around campus but I finally found myself a decent place. I liked living on my own, and I obviously could afford it, but I was thankful for what I had. I knew that Jessie rented a basement unit from one of her mother’s friends.

I understood she lived off of a strict budget and could only afford a couple of classes at a time, but that was only from piecemeal conversations I had gathered over the past few months.

As I secured the top on the travel mug¸ I thought about how glad I was this wasn’t a weekend my cousin Kai was coming up to see his girlfriend Rachel, because we usually hung out for a bit. My extended family knew my father was somewhat of a prick but I wasn’t sure if they knew the extent of his bullshit. We hid it well and Kai never asked any questions.

I’ve had fantasies of one day confronting my father, college tuition be damned.

I wanted to knock the motherfucker out. But again, it was that fantasy of losing control that really ate away at me and scared the living shit out of me.

I heard a knock and was surprised that Jessie had entered my building. I figured she’d just honk for me to come out. I cursed at myself for not straightening up better.

I swung open the door and she breezed right on in. “Sorry, figured you’d let me use the bathroom before we got on the road. You know us chicks and having to pee.”

It was a halfhearted dig about the other night at the bar and her eyes flashed at me, her lips quirked up in mischief.

I held her gaze for too long before I said, “Hallway. First door on the right.”

After she traipsed off in her worn and ripped jeans, I imagine following her into my bathroom and pushing her up against the counter, taking her from behind. I scrubbed my hands over my face trying to shake those kinds of thoughts from my head.

I needed to knock it off already—we were just friends. She’d never go for my bullshit; in fact, she’d probably call me on it right away.

But she’d admitted to being handcuffed at the bar. Maybe it’d been a terrible experience for her. Maybe she kicked the guy out straight after.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she wiped her hands down the front of her tight T-shirt and her face was flushed. What the hell? Had she been having the same thought?

Yeah, right. Snap the hell out of it.

She looked around the apartment, taking in my black leather couches and marble tables. I wanted to tell her I got them used but I kept my mouth sealed shut. Might as well play the part of the privileged college boy since that’s what she already thought of me.

“Nice digs, Square. Thought you’d be less messy though,” she said, eyeing my pile of clothing in the corner, sans laundry basket.

“Had I known you’d come bursting through the door, I might have picked up after myself a little better.”

She grinned. “When a girl’s gotta pee, she’s gotta pee.”

I tried not to follow that up with a retort, but I had to admit it felt comfortable having her in my apartment. Maybe I should invite her over to watch a movie sometime. But we weren’t that type of friends, were we?

“Ready to hit the road?” I strolled to the kitchen island and lifted her travel mug. “I made you a tall arabica roast.”

She grasped it from my fingers, her gaze sweeping past my fancy coffee machine on the counter, but keeping her lips sealed. “Thanks a bunch.”

I followed her out the door to her used red Dodge Dakota truck. The fact that this girl drove this kind of car made me grin. “Nice ride.”

“Thanks. It was my dad’s and after he . . .” she paused, her eyes clouding over before quickly clearing. “
Died,
I took it over. Saves me a car payment. And walking everywhere.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad.” I said stepping into the truck. “Um, how long ago?”

“About three years ago now,” she said, gripping the steering wheel.

I couldn’t help thinking that I wished it had been my dad and not hers—seemed like she really missed her father, probably even had a decent relationship with him. Didn’t seem fair. That what was so shitty about life. It made no fucking sense.

Then I felt guilty even wishing my dad dead. More so, I just wished him gone.

“Sounds like you guys were close,” I said, wondering what the hell that even felt like.

“Very.” She sighed. “He was a photographer, too. I also inherited his Hasselblad 500C/M, which is what I’m going to use to shoot this project.”

She lifted up this cool vintage-looking black camera from her tote bag on the seat between us that was shaped like a square and had a turn handle I presumed was for advancing to the next picture.

“My father taught me everything I know,” she said with what sounded liked awe in her voice. “You should have seen some of his photo spreads. Damn, he was good.”

“That’s really cool . . . and special,” I said, as she put the car in drive and pulled out of the lot. “It also helps explain some of your tattoos.”

She nodded. “Got any ink on you, Square?”

“Nah.” I stared down at her forearm that had a roll of film inked on it and I got lost looking at her smooth flesh in between all the colorful artwork.

When she lifted her arm to turn the wheel and head toward the freeway, I snapped out of it. “How does your dad’s camera compare to modern digital cameras?”

“In my opinion?” she said, giving me a sidelong glance. “There’s no comparison. It uses one-twenty film which trumps thirty-five millimeter and the image quality is sweet.”

She went radio silent after that, lost in her own thoughts—maybe about her father or about how she would shoot the bridges. I knew one thing for certain—a girl who was that passionate about vintage camera equipment was sexy as hell.

I thought it would feel more awkward being around her, not only after that night at the bar, but also for us to be alone on the road. But it didn’t. I’d known her for a decent amount of time now and even though Bennett and pretty much every other guy who knew me initially thought that I wanted to get in her pants, I was able to quickly bat that idea down.

I actually liked having her as a friend because she was refreshingly different. The families that ran in my parents’ circle were wealthy and the girls were mostly privileged and snobby. It was even more laughable that they’d want to be wild in the bedroom. They wouldn’t dream of tarnishing their image.

I went to TSU, not only because of its engineering program, but also because I wanted to have a normal college experience in every way possible.

And Jess was normal. Outside of her tattoos and colorful hair. Maybe
normal
wasn’t exactly the word. She was real. A real girl, with feelings and a strong voice and kick-ass ideas. I was too chickenshit to get close to a girl like that romantically, so I figured she was the coolest girl around to befriend.

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” Jessie said. “You didn’t have to give up your Saturday for me.”

“No problem,” I said. “The idea of getting away for a whole day actually sounded great.”

“Got lots of pressures or something, Square?” she asked, the corner of her lip turning up. “What kind of stressors do you have in your life?”

I looked over at her because I thought she was messing with me again. But she seemed genuinely interested.

God, wouldn’t it be nice just once to unload all of my dark thoughts on someone. She might fling me out of the fucking car if she knew exactly what I’d fantasied about doing to her.

“Just the usual,” I said. “School and work.” My internship was definitely challenging and I didn’t want to fuck it up, so I had to keep up with my classes and schoolwork, and get my head out of my ass.

“What made you decide on engineering?” she asked. “Is that what your dad does?”

Shit, she didn’t know me at all. She thought I was just some rich kid following in his daddy’s footsteps.

“Hell no.” The words rushed form my lips before I could stop them and her eyebrows shot up. I rarely even spoke of my family, outside of my brother’s football schedule. I’d be missing his game today but that was fine by me. Sitting in the stands next to my parents and Luke’s new girlfriend, Anna, pretending to be a close family was actually a painful experience. Luke was like a God on the field, which only fed his already inflated ego, so my dad would have plenty to talk to Anna about.

“My dad is a high-powered advertising executive,” I said through clenched teeth. It was difficult for me to talk about him without seething. “Now my brother, Luke? He’s already got an entry-level job lined up at my father’s firm.”

Jessie nodded, so I continued.

“But me?” I said, resting my ankle on my knee and fiddling with my shoelace. “I’ve just always been different than the two of them.”

Her gaze zeroed in on my laces as I wound the string around my finger, and then up to my eyes. “What do you mean?”

Was I really that different? Or was I really just a ticking time bomb, waiting to detonate?

“Let’s see,” I said, relaxing back into my seat. “They’re both very driven, natural-born leaders, but . . .”

She nodded, waiting on me. “They can be total pricks . . . and cocky as shit.”

Her hands braced the steering wheel like I had stunned her, but I couldn’t help myself.

Besides, Jessie had met Luke on a couple of occasions up at the bar. He’d joke that he was slumming it to show up at Zach’s and he was usually with a girl or a couple of his boys from the team. He was mostly polite to my friends, given the manners my parents had instilled in both of us, but he was never especially friendly.

Unless he was with the guys from the frat house. I partied with those dudes sometimes and probably went to too many of their parties. But I liked hanging with Bennett, Jessie, and their crew most of all. Probably because I didn’t have to pretend to be anybody—they didn’t require it of me.

“It’s definitely true that you’re different from you’re brother, Nate,” she said in a low and soothing voice. Almost like she felt the need to talk me down. “And from what I’ve seen, that a good thing.”

My eyes met hers and I gave a slow nod.

“You’re not cocky. Except when you’re just messing around.” Then her lips quirked up. “Otherwise, you’re just a regular boy next door.”

“I wouldn’t call me regular, sweetheart,” I said going for humor but falling flat. I just didn’t have it in me right then.

“Oooh, Mr. Mysterious,” she said. “Does this have anything to do with jumping out of planes or . . . maybe some handcuffs?”

My entire body grew warm. Time for a subject change.

“What kind of CDs do you have in this rusty old ride?”

Jessie

As Nate rifled through my CD collection, I wondered why he seemed so dang uncomfortable about my question. It was like all the play had gone out of him as soon as I mentioned his family.

I’d met his brother on a couple of occasions and he seemed like an arrogant ass, but I’d never tell Nate that. Instead, he called him out himself. And included his own father in the mix. Even going so far as to call him a prick. I couldn’t help wondering what their history was and what it would be like to grow up with that kind of father—a drastic difference from my own.

I figured this whole time that Nate was just going to college on his daddy’s money and having a good time. He was cool to hang around with and he never seem to mind that I called him Square, but now I was even further intrigued that there was more beneath the surface.

My brother and I were raised in a loving home where money was always tight. My mother practiced Reiki at a wellness center and my dad was a freelance photographer, taking jobs where he could, usually for the local newspapers. When it came down to it, having money was nice but it wasn’t everything. I’d turn down a million dollars in a heartbeat to have my daddy walk back into my life.

As Nate held up an older CD he said, “You like Nirvana?” I needed to ask myself why the hell I cared about Nate’s past. Sure we were friends, more casual than anything, because we hung around the same circle. Truth be told, I guess I really didn’t know very much about him. And now I was on a road trip with him and more curious by the minute.

As I slid the CD from his fingers and glided it inside the stereo slot, I felt the urge to push him for more information but I didn’t want to seem too nosy. Stepping into his apartment this morning, where he seemed to be just another messy boy, made him even more endearing. I’d admit that while using his bathroom, I pictured myself in in that girl’s place again—Nate busting through the door and pushing me up against the sink.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t been with dominant guys before. I’d met plenty. But it was the combination of Nate’s clean-cut side with that roughness I’d witnessed in the bar that completely threw me for a loop and had my stomach in knots while I was just sitting beside him.

As he fumbled around and replaced my CDs in their cases, barely making eye contact with me, I had this impression that he was standing on the edge of a crevice and considering whether to open himself up—show himself to me. It was as if he just didn’t know how, or even whether he should. Something about that made me want to be the one to push him over the brink.

What the living hell was wrong with me? I had never been attracted to a guy like Nate. But his blond hair looked all messy today, like someone had run their fingers through it, his thick eyelashes were blinking away at my musical taste and his full lips were screaming to be licked. God, I was a hot mess.

And when he’d admitted that not one trace of a tattoo peppered his skin, I couldn’t help wondering what a body like that looked like in the flesh.

What was one to do with such a blank canvas? I might want to do something drastic, like mar him with my teeth. That thought made a bubble of laughter spring up inside my chest, because I was being absolutely ridiculous.

“What’s so funny?” Nate asked, his fingers tapping a beat against his thigh. In fact, his knee had been jiggling away practically the whole time we’d been in the car.

“Nothing,” I said trying to contain my ridiculousness. “Overactive imagination.”

I studied him out of the corner of my eye, my hands fisting the steering wheel.

“I have that affliction as well,” he said, running his hand across his mouth. I could feel him staring hard at my profile, specifically my mouth, which now felt dry.

When my tongue darted out to lick my lips, he inhaled sharply through his nose, and I considered asking him about those kissing rumors. Because right now I wanted to pull off to the side of the road and show him exactly how I liked to use my tongue.

Maybe this was the appeal that he had with all of those girls—and now I was becoming one of them. As the air became thick in our enclosed space, I realized I had somehow convinced myself that Nate had a wild side that involved handcuffs and who knew what else. The question was: why would I want to be the one to bring it out of him?

It wasn’t like we had a future. But hell, that’s never stopped me before. I wasn’t shy about getting to know someone if I was curious about them. The worst that could happen was that I’d have to eventually kick him to the curb. But given that Nate and I shared the same friends, it might prove to be awkward later. And what of our friendship now? Didn’t I enjoy our easy and casual banter? Why would I jeopardize that?

A change of thought process would be a wise decision right about now. “So Square, how do you know so much about Bridgeway?”

“I actually grew up there,” he said, after clearing his throat. “And then later, we moved to the city.”

“That makes perfect sense.” I nodded. “I just figured you studied about it in one of your classes. Or maybe had a fascination with it or something.”

“Nope,” he said, and then hummed along to Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” his foot crossed over his ankle.

“So where did you live?”

“In the rural part,” he said, and I could almost picture it. “Decent-size house with a wraparound porch and a huge yard.”

When I didn’t say anything, because I was trying to picture a younger Nate living in a house like that, he continued.

“It’s a quieter town. The steel mill that drove the city’s income shut down, so a lot of townsfolk lost their jobs.”

The way he described it made it sound like a completely different way of life, as if from a different era.

“So you’re a country boy at heart?” I grinned. “I thought I heard a twang in your voice.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk. “Is that a bad thing? You know what they say about country boys and all of their
large
equipment.”

I snorted a laugh. “That they’re very acquainted with the farm animals?”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “You’ve really got to get out more if that’s what you think.”

“You’re probably right,” I said, still smiling. “I’ve always been a city girl.”

He looked me over appraisingly from the top of my head down to my bright purple Converse kicks, while my pulse skittered in my veins. “Not sure I could ever picture you growing up in town like that.”

“The blue hair wouldn’t go over well?” I said, swallowing thickly. Not sure why his scrutiny was sending my stomach into a free-fall.

“Nah, it’s that damn sneaker collection,” he said, grinning. I had an assortment of colorful ones, some I’d even asked the guys at the shop to doodle on, freehand. My favorite was a limited edition Blondie pair—she was my favorite icon.

“Oh, you’re right,” I deadpanned. “I might get run out of town because of those.”

We drove a couple more miles in silence before I said, “Do you miss living in Bridgeway?”

As he thought about it, I saw a flash of pain in his eyes. There was definitely a story there.

“Not really,” he said in a quiet voice. “Small town living is different.”

“Tell me how.”

“You definitely have more space to move around in, less people,” he said, his knee rattling a mile a minute again. “The downside is, more people know your business.”

“I don’t like that at all.” I said, grimacing. I enjoyed the anonymity of a large city, even though I’d never quite considered that before. I wasn’t even sure the fishbowl of campus life could compare to what he was describing. “Though my dad used to talk about the smaller town he and his parents lived in for a while.”

I was amazed by how comfortable it felt to bring my dad up around Nate. I had stayed away from the topic forever because it was just too painful. But now it just seemed natural to blurt out little stories about him. As if Nate was someone who would keep them safe.

“Looks like you might have small town living in your DNA, after all.”

“Yeah right.” I laughed. “So why did your family move?”

There was a long dramatic pause before he said, “Because of my father . . . he, uh, got another job.”